


Well-Oiled Machines

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: The Pacemakers [31]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bad Days, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff and Crack, Humorous Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Piggy-Back Rides, Snark, Team as Family, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:53:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brawn and Cliffjumper have some catching up to do, but between figuring out what state they're in and wondering if they can be considered "little people", who knows if they'll ever get around to it?</p><p>(Or - the one where everyone gets hopelessly sloshed, Smokescreen practices sass, and Prowl despairs of the Minibot team surviving the night.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well-Oiled Machines

**Author's Note:**

> Cybertronian Time Measurements  
> Joor - 1 Hour

“Where is he?” Bumblebee whispered, clutching at Brawn’s arm.

“Where d’you think?” his fellow Minibot groaned, gesturing toward the table in the corner they usually procured for late night antics. According to Prowl, Cliffjumper had been seated at that table for at least two joors, drinking high-grade nonstop. To be fair, today hadn’t been the best day for Cliffjumper (as he had gotten into one of his ‘you’re-a-traitor’ moods and had been openly berated for it by Prime himself), but he was starting to worry the others with his drinking. Worry, meaning he had caught their bemused attention.

Sunstreaker had chuckled about it with Trailbreaker, who had brought it up with Mirage, who had naturally gone to Jazz, who had mentioned it to Smokescreen, who had pointed it out to cousin Bluestreak, who had rushed straight for Prowl. It was a fact—a little-known one, but still a fact—that Prowl was _very_ hard-pressed to resist a plea from his twin brother, so he had gotten in touch with Brawn, who had ambushed Bumblebee and steered him toward the rec-room.

“How are we supposed to get him to his berth?” Bumblebee demanded. “He’ll kill us before we get to the doors.”

“You forget who you’re talkin’ to,” Brawn scoffed, clanging a fist against his solid chest and approaching Cliffjumper, who hunched his shoulders and glowered at him as he sat across from him.

“Whaddaya want?” Cliffjumper asked as greeting, downing the remnants of a fourth cube and shoving it toward the other empty containers.

“I want you to come quietly,” Brawn replied with just as much bluntness.

Cliffjumper’s optics recalibrated with a whir, drunkenly trying to refocus. “Whadderya talkin’ about? Waaaas…quieter b’fore you came in.”

Brawn sighed, leaning forward and gripping the red Minibot’s forearm. “Cliff, you’re overcharged enough already! Come to berth, will you?”

“Get offa me,” Cliffjumper snarled, yanking his arm out of Brawn’s grip. “’m as level as ’m gonna git an’ there’s noffin’ I—wait-wait-wait—noffin’ _you_ can do ’boutit.”

“Cliff—”

“Shuddup! You’re just…jus’ jealous a’ my ability to hold more’n a few sisters—” Cliffjumper halted suddenly, holding up a wavering hand, squinting as he processed the word.

Bumblebee struggled to smooth out his chuckle into a cough. “I think you mean ‘snifters’, Cliff?”

Cliffjumper looked up languidly, his frown deepening. “An’ you came too…just my lucky luck.”

Brawn didn’t seem to have heard any of the conversation beyond Cliffjumper’s inferring that he himself couldn’t hold his charge. “You think you’re better than me! Primus, you _always_ think that! Alright, then, Cliffjumper, you and I have a bit of catching up to do!”

Cliffjumper didn’t seem to realize that he already had a lead to being the first under the table, having already downed four cubes himself. He smiled for the first time since their arrival, lazily waving a hand in Brawn’s face as though to pat his cheek condescendingly.

Bee watched in mystified perplexity as Brawn ordered a round from Smokescreen, who was tending the energon stock. The fact that Smokescreen himself was hungover seemed to spur Brawn on and he managed the first cube easily.

“Um, Brawn,” Bumblebee started cautiously. “I thought we were supposed to get Cliffjumper out of here, not join him!”

“Aww, c’mon, Bee,” Brawn laughed. “All in the spirit of competition.”

“Well, don’t have too _much_ spirit, alright?” Bumblebee pleaded.

“I won’t if we split it three ways,” Brawn countered with a wink. Bumblebee considered and finally gave in, sinking down between them. At least if it came to a fistfight he could throw himself between them. Hopefully he’d be too overcharged to register the pain that would follow by the time he was forced to do so.

—

That moment never came, though Bumblebee did somehow end up sprawled across the table, laughing wildly until his vents were churning steam. That made the rest of the Minibot team cough and thump each other on the backs to help out, though most of them missed each other and hit the table, sloshing their drinks. At some point Gears, Huffer, and Windcharger had found their way to the table for an impromptu party. Brawn and Cliffjumper weren’t competing anymore, though they did continue calling out random numbers for some tally that no one could remember.

“I need rechaaarge!” Gears wailed, hiccupping and then laughing as though he’d made a private joke. That stopped when Huffer lunged across the table, seizing his shoulders and shaking him.

“Dun’…dun’ go,” he commanded, his optics as round as new tires as he pronounced painstakingly, “Th’ floors are _so_ far from th’ berths, in yer state y’won’t be able to climb down them.”

Everyone was quiet for a long moment and then Windcharger clarified, “He’s in my st-tate. I’m in the Organ state. And he’s in it t-t-too.”

Brawn spat his mouthful of energon back into his cube in order to scold, “Nah, half-clock! It’s the _Origami_ state!”

“Sain’ Hil’ry Mown’, Origami,” Cliffjumper agreed drowsily, slumping against the wall behind him.

Bumblebee turned onto his stomach on the table’s surface and rested his chin in one hand, commenting, “Spike says origami is a—a thing little people do fer art.”

“It’s a gaaaame,” Gears slurred, poking Bumblebee’s shoulder. “Oraaa- _game_ -ie!” He giggled and then paused, murmuring, “Are we little people? Should we play?”

“We’re too overcharged t’ play,” Huffer proclaimed, nudging his twelfth cube onto Bumblebee’s back in lieu of the tabletop. “We’re _over_ -overcharged.”

“Drunk,” Bumblebee put in.

“Tanked.”

“Veeery well-oiled.”

“Lit up!”

“Fly-high! Wait…flew-high? Flown-highed?”

“Unreservedly intoxicated, the lot of you,” another voice concluded sternly. Those of the Minibots who were attentive enough to hear him looked up at Prowl, while the rest decided they wouldn’t miss much by dozing.

“Ya wanna drink, Prowl?” Brawn offered generously, holding out an empty cube. “I’m at _fifteen_!”

Prowl shuttered his optics momentarily as though desperately seeking patience. “Brawn, you seem to have forgotten that smaller frames such as yourselves can only handle ten high-grade cubes at maximum without side-effects.”

Almost before he was finished speaking, Huffer choked, doubled over and purged on his own knees. He was so startled by this sudden appearance of unprocessed fluid that he let out a small sob. Gears lifted a hand to the engineer’s mouth to stifle the next one.

“Shh-h-h-h…s’okay, my chassis hurts too, buddy. Doc’ll make it betteeer, yeh, Huff?”

Brawn’s wide smile dropped almost instantly. “Imma bad leader, Prowl,” he stated gravely, his mood in obvious flux. “I just wanna be nice t’my team!”

Sighing wearily, Prowl conceded, “Of course you do, Brawn. You can start by helping me take them to your chambers.”

Brawn puzzled over this for a long series of seconds before he realized what had been said to him. He grinned again, nodding and then shaking his head from dizziness. “Yeah, yeah! ’Kay…who wants a…a ride on my back?”

Windcharger, who was closest, draped himself over Brawn’s back, resting his helm against his shoulder. Brawn staggered a few steps, looking as though he were caught in a strong wind, and Prowl turned away from the Minibots still at the table, ready to balance Brawn from behind.

That was a bad move on Prowl’s part.

Primus knows how, but Bumblebee somehow managed to launch himself into the air like a disturbed cat, wedging himself between Prowl’s doorwings and locking his arms around the officer’s neck, dangling there. Prowl coughed at the sudden pressure, his doorwings trying to contract in his surprise, which caused Bumblebee to mewl that he was going to be squished. Something to do with a trash compacter…?

“Bumblebee—” Prowl audibly struggled to stay calm as he pulled at the scout’s arms, trying to loosen their death grip on his throat.

“I wanna ride!” Bumblebee cried, kicking his feet against the small of Prowl’s back. “You’re really tall and won’t fall. H-Hey, Prowl?” Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, Bumblebee informed him, “That rhymed!”

“Yes, I know,” Prowl sighed, pulling Bumblebee’s legs forward. Though in a traditional back-ride, the rider’s legs would go around the waist, Bumblebee was smaller than most, so his legs went around Prowl’s chest.

Smokescreen, who lounged nearby, snickered a little. “That’s a sweet look for you, Prowl,” he commented, wincing and lowering his tone a few notches. “Reminds me of that time Blue went out cold during one of your briefings and you carried him out.”

“There were many differences in that instance, Smokescreen,” Prowl answered stiffly. “Bluestreak was suffering recharge-deprivation due to _someone’s_ idea of blasting smoke into his room and setting off the fire alarm. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker already spent their time in the brig for that, but you managed to weasel your way onto the next mission roster. Now you can pay your dues, my dear hungover cousin.”

Smokescreen straightened his slouch, looking more nervous.

“Help me carry them and I’ll consider the prank forgotten.”

Smokescreen heaved a sigh, obviously reluctant about it, but stood anyway, snatching up the limp form of Cliffjumper and jamming him under one arm. Gears resisted but eventually found himself under the other arm. Prowl and Smokescreen stared at each other and then at Huffer, who kicked his feet at the table’s base like a sullen, miserable sparkling.

“I have only one neck,” Prowl pointed out. Smokescreen rolled his optics and crouched, letting Huffer use his doorwings for leverage to hoist himself up.

Who could tell which berth belonged to which Minibot? When they reached the messy quarters, Smokescreen didn’t even make an effort to guess, dumping his three charges onto the floor. Prowl frowned at him reproachfully, but the Minibots adapted to it, curling against each other. Brawn dropped to one knee, allowing Windcharger to slide off of him before landing heavily nearby.

“P-Put me down, Prowl,” Bumblebee urged. “This is my floor…”

Prowl did so and Bumblebee burrowed his way into the recharge pile, smiling lethargically. Shaking his helm in wonder, Prowl turned to leave, only to be stopped by Bumblebee once more.

“Prowl?”

“Yes.”

“What state are we in?”

“The inebriated one,” Prowl said simply. Bumblebee waved his hand as though to brush the words away.

“No, no, no. What _state_ are we in? Where do we live?”

“Mount St. Hilary, Oregon.”

“Okay…Who’s Saint Hilary?”

Prowl didn’t even bother to answer that one, guiding Smokescreen out of the room and locking the door behind them.

“So my prank’s as good as gone, right?” Smokescreen pressed as soon as they were alone.

“Yes.”

Smokescreen smiled for the first time, crossing his arms. “Well, get ready for another one, Prowler. It’ll be even better!” He wanted to have the last word, so he pivoted, only to be stopped by a soft laugh. “What?” he demanded, glaring at Prowl.

“Oh…you _might_ want to make a detour to the wash racks, Smokescreen. Huffer’s vomit doesn’t exactly do wonders for the paintjob.”


End file.
